The Da Vinci Crack
by m3thod-mak3r
Summary: My first attempt at parody. This follows the same general storyline as the book, but with a few....'changes'.
1. OH NOES! I'm dead

A note from the author: Hi! This is my first shot at a parody. I hope there are at least a few parts of this story which are worth reading. Naturally, I don't own the Da Vinci code. If I did, it wouldn't exist. Okay. I'm shutting up. Get ready to READ

* * *

The Louve, Paris

Curator Jacques Sauniere was running for his life. For a fat academic like himself, this was not an easy thing to do. Jacques had been jogging for nearly five minutes, and already his breath was coming to him in short rasping puffs. _There is no way I can depend on my physical strength to get me out of here alive. I've got to use my intellect to get out of this situation. _Jacques thought desperately. _I know! I'll play dead!_ Flopping to the floor, the force of his fall caused a few priceless paintings to fall to the floor. The museum, sensing a threat to it's valuable innards, closed it's defensive gates, separating Jacques and his attacker. _That works, too. _Considered Jacques with satisfaction, convincing himself that had been his plan all along.

"You know, I have a gun, right?" came a voice on the other side of the bars. _D'oh_ thought Jacques, trying even harder to look dead. "I can hear you whimpering, so quit playing possum." the man said, sounding tired.

Slowly, Jacques rose and faced his attacker. The man was startlingly white, with red pupils which glowed with sinister intent (though it might have been a nearby illuminated, crimson exit sign causing that particular effect). "Did you see a ghost or are you one?" asked Jacques, attempting to be funny. The albino man rolled his red eyes, "Like I haven't heard that one before. Anyway, I'm here because you have some information for me. Where is it?"

Jacques blinked, "Weren't you paying attention the first time I told you?" The albino sighed heavily, "It was SUPPOSED to be creepy and dramatic, like the prologue of a mystery novel. It's foreshadowing, you dig?" Jacques nodded in agreement, "So, now what are you going to do? You have your information." The albino waved the gun around, "Shot you, duh." he then poked the muzzle of the gun through the bars of the security gate, and fired. The shot punctured Jacques's stomach. "Ow!" yelped Jacques, poking the hole in his shirt, which was now trickling blood and various biles.

"Crud. This thing always pulls down...I was aiming for your head." the albino confessed as he tucked the weapon into his brown robe. "You should play more video games." Jacques suggested, "They can really improve your aim." The albino ignored Jacques, in favor of beginning a bad guy monologue, "No matter Jacques. You will be dead in a matter of minutes anyway. I've killed your little friends as well. Your secret belongs to me now! My mission is complete!" cackling madly, the albino began to hobble off, occasionally punctuating his laughter with curses when he jarred one of his legs.

_Fudgemuffins!_ Thought Jacques, _If I die, nobody will know the truth! And that would really suck. _So, Jacques stood unsteadily, pulling out a convenient magic marker and a cell phone. He could call someone, and tell them his secret, or write a message to them on the floor. _But that would take like, five minutes tops, and I've got like, 15 minutes left on earth. There has gotta be something better that I could do. _Eying a few famous portraits, Jacques began to grin. _I've always wanted to do something like this..._he thought evilly.

A Sleazy Hotel, Paris

Robert Langdon was dreaming. He was floating on a calm stream of purple chocolate, surrounded by scantily clad mermaids. They happily, flipping their tails and cooing seductively. "Calm down ladies...there is enough of me to go around." Langdon said smoothly. This was true; though Langdon had lost some weight, he was still essentially the typical fat American middle aged male. One mermaid opened her mouth to giggle, but instead of a tinkling laugh, a loud ringing sound escaped her mouth. Langdon winced. She kept making the sound, and regrettably, Langdon felt himself waking. When he opened his eyes, he discovered that it was a phone, not a sexy mermaid, which was making the noise. Cursing and struggling with soggy bed sheets, Langdon groped for the phone, finding it, he jammed it to his mouth, "What the Hell do you want!" he demanded, only do discover he had mistakenly pressed the receiver to his ear. Flipping the phone over, he repeated his question into the correct end of the phone. "Eh...Voulez vous coucher avec moi ce soir, Monsieur Langdon. Did I wake you?" came the voice of the hotel night clerk, "A man came asking for you. I sent him up." "What! No! I asked for a women! Who do these people think I am? They should really pay more attention to their client's requests." Langdon said, outraged. "It was an officer of the French police." said the clerk quietly. "The wrong routine even..." began Langdon. He was interrupted by a knock on the door. "Just great. I bet that's him. This is gonna be awkward as anything." Langdon hung up the phone and answered the door.

"Mr. Langdon, Harvard Professor and symbology expert, I presume?" asked the real life policeman. _Oh shit. _Thought Langdon, realizing his mistake. Then he stammered, "Yes...that's me." "Right. You were supposed to meet with curator Jacques Sauniere tonight. Am I correct?" the police officer waggled his eyebrows. Langdon nodded nervously. "Yeah. But he didn't show up."

The police officer sighed dramatically. Several times. "Look at this picture, Mr, Langdon, and it will be explained why he did not come." the police officer said, wiping a tear from his eye as he passed a polaroid to Langdon. Examining the picture, Langdon winced, threw up, then wrinkled his nose and threw up again, "Okay. That's nasty. You could have just told me he was dead." said Langdon, shoving the picture back to the weeping police officer. "Well, you would have seen the body one way or the other. The commissioner himself wants you to join him at the crime seen, to help him interpret the meanings behind the more...ah...unusual aspects of the corpse." Langdon nodded, still feeling rather ill. "Right...I'll change into something...dry. Be right back."

A few minutes later, Langdon was standing in front of the Louve, bracing himself for his meeting with the most powerful officer in Paris. His head was still reeling from what the officer had told him about the corpse during the drive to the famous museum. Apparently, curator Jacques Sauniere had done...that stuff...to himself. Langdon shivered, _That guy was crazy with a capital 'C'! To think, I almost went drinking with the guy...who knows what kind of crazy stuff he would have pulled._

Before the police officer dumped Langdon in the Louve, he reported, "Monsieur Langdon voulez vous coucher avec moi ce soir." into a walkie-talkie. Langdon assumed it meant, "Yep, I've got him."

After shoving Langdon unceremoniously onto the pavement outside the Louve, the police officer sped off at a break-neck speed, causing Langdon to wonder if the man had been a legit officer at all. Walking toward the giant glass pyramid which house the main entrance of the Louve, Langdon was surprised when a big man with a nose ring popped up from the ground, "Hello Mr. Langdon! I am the police commissioner, known behind my back as the Bull! Voulez vous coucher avec moi ce soir" said the head hancho police man in greeting. Langdon struggled, attempting to dredge up the remains of his high school french lessons. _If only I hadn't pulled all nighters playing D and D so often...I might have learned more if I was actually awake for that class._ He mourned mentally. "No hablo inglés." he told the commissioner in a forced polish accent.

The commissioner nodded as though he understood. With the annoying formal stuff over with, the commissioner began asking Langdon's opinion on the most controversial item in Paris: the pyramid in front of the Louve. Apparently, there was nothing better (or more important) to discuss. "So Mr. Langdon. What do you think of our pyramid?" Langdon could tell by the commissioner's tone that this was the question he used to test the character of every man he met. If Langdon did not answer well, the commissioner's opinion of him would be forever soiled. After a brief moment of thought, Langdon responded with, "It looks like Madonna minus one." The commissioner nodded. It was a fair answer.

Afterwards, the commissioner dragged Langdon into the dark, burbbly bowls of the Louve, where he began questioning Langdon about his friendship with Jacques Sauniere. "How long have you known Jacques Sauniere?" demanded the commissioner. "Not at all. We had similar interested. He invited me to meet him for the first time tonight." responded Lagdon truthfully. "You two were never lovers?" asked the commissioner suspiciously. "WHAT? No!" said Lagdon, feeling bile rise in he throat. Mentally, Langdon crossed out 'crime of passion' from his list of possible motives. The pair navigated the seemingly endless maze of art fill corridors, until suddenly the commissioner stopped. "You feel that Langdon? We are close to the crime scene. You can feel the very suffering of..." "No we're not." whined Langdon, "We passed the crime scene like, 10 minutes ago. I was wondering where you were going."

The commissioner looked puzzled, "So, what are we close to then?" "The end of this chapter, bitches!" shouted the author as she suddenly stopped typing.


	2. Dead Bodies Scare Me

glimmer glimmer Authorly intervention! KWAPING!

Replies to comments:

xlawa- why do you twitch do? ;;

tres-awesome- Aw...thank you. You might have to wait a little longer for Sophie though. Sorry!

deathmedic- Yey! I show promise. That's more that what the guidance counselors say about me...ANYway...yeah, the french is gonna be a running joke. Jest because sometimes I felt like I had to be bi-lingual to read that book.

* * *

...then the author started typing again. "Dance for me, my puppets!" she shouted, a maniacal expression twisting her features.

"That was kinda...different." said Langdon. Shaking off the odd feeling, he turned to the commissioner. "Should we head over to the crime scene now?" he asked. The commissioner blinked, as though he has been suddenly pulled from a waking dream, "...crime scene? Yeah...how about you lead the way."

Puzzled, Langdon walked back down the hallway, until he came to a smaller hall which was mostly blocked off by a gate. The gate was threaded with copious amounts of yellow caution tape, as well as a few inexplicable bands of Christmas lights. Langdon looked at the commissioner curiously, "Now what?" The commissioner, who seemed to have remembered what he was doing, said "Hold on. Let me talk to my boys." Crouching near the floor, he shouted, "Voulez vous coucher avec moi ce soir?" under the gate. This question was met by a few hurried replied in French. The commissioner stood, nodding, "Right! They say it's okay for you to come in."

Langdon blinked, "And...how?" he asked, fearing the answer would cause him much grievous humiliation. The commissioner grinned wickedly, "Under the gate of course. I'm sure you can fit." Langdon did not share the commissioner's faith. The space between the grate and the floor was very small indeed. Luckily, Langdon had been in situations like that before, and since then, he always traveled prepared. Langdon whipped out a stick of butter, and rubbed down the underside of the gate and the floor. _With everything coated oh so greasily, there is no way I can get stuck in a comical and embarrassing way!_ Thought Langdon in triumph. However, all the butter in the world could not keep him from simply being too fat to fit under the gate. Langdon got stuck halfway under the gate, with his feet sticking into the crime scene and his face staring up at the grinning commissioner.

Langdon muttered something quietly. "What's that? Sorry, I didn't hear you." the commissioner said with glee. "Can you help me a little here? I'm stuck." repeated Langdon, sounding almost as mortified as he felt. After spending a good five minutes laughing himself sick, the commissioner finally kicked Lagdon in the head. The force of the blow caused Langdon to slip under the gate much in the same way a watermelon seed shoots out between two fingers when pinched. Needless to say, the effect was very comical and embarrassing. Still laughing, the police commissioner slipped much more easily under the gate.

As he stood, butter stained and extremely red in the face, Langdon got a good look at the corpse which he had seen in miniature on film. Langdon had hoped that it would be less gross in real life. It wasn't. Quickly, Langdon turned around and threw up again, this time in a bucket placed nearby labeled, 'Pour le loster faible au barf dedans.'. The French Police watched as Langdon was reacquainted with his dinner, lunch, breakfast and a midnight snack in that order. When he was done barfing in the bucket, Langdon turned around calmly and asked, "What do you need me to do?"

One of the officers present was an Overworked Intern, who had been hunched carefully over a sketchbook for the greater part of an hour before she was distracted by Langdon's spectacular upchucking. The commissioner had given her the utterly useless task of drawing the crime scene...using eclair filling to do the picture. As she worked faithful on her sketch, she had the strangest urge to sing 'Bad Day', though she wasn't sure why. Every time Overworked Intern asked the commissioner about why she had to do a sketch using food, he began muttering dangerously and fingering his police baton. Overworked Intern decided it was some fetish of the commissioner's, and the less she know about it, the better.

Suddenly, Dan Brown popped up, eyes rolling and limbs flailing, "You!" he shrieked at Overworked Intern, "You're a non-corrupt, non-bigoted Roman Catholic! DIE!" Dan Brown fired a few hasty shots, though he only managed to glaze the nimble intern's leg. Fleeing for her life, the intern rapidly abandoned the crime scene, though not before heartily flicking Dan Brown off.

Completing ignoring the firefight which had occurred just behind them, Langdon and the French Police craned their necks over the dead body. Jacques Sauniere had stripped himself naked before he had died, and drawn a strange symbol on his chest with his own blood. Unfortunately, he had attempted to draw on his copious amounts of chest hair, so the picture had not turned out very well. Using a Rose Art pen, Jacques Sauniere had scribbled a large shape around his body, though it was difficult to tell what shape it was supposed to be, exactly. Despite his great love for art, Jacques Sauniere was not a very good artist himself. In all honesty, he sucked pretty bad.

"So! What does it all mean?" asked the commissioner cheerily as he began munching on a croissant. Langdon poked the body tentatively with a toe, "Well...it looks like he tried to draw a pentagram on his chest...hair." "Merde!" cursed a French police officer as he passed some money to a smirking friend. Apparently, he had just lost a bet. The commissioner snapped his croissant encrusted fingers, "DEVIL WORSHIP!" he proclaimed through a mouthful of pastry.

Landgon poked the corpse again. It jiggled in a most amusing way. He began to explain "Well not always see..."

"DEVIL WORSHIP!" shouted the commissioner, spraying crumbs everywhere.

"...sometimes the pentagram could mean other things..."

"LIKE DEVIL WORSHIP!" said the commissioner with triumph.

"...like nature worship, or a goddess symbol." finished Langdon.

"Goddess symbol? Like I said, DEVIL WORSHIP!" the commissioner said. Everyone laughed at the feminist joke. Langdon most of all. "Anyway...what about the nekkid-ness?" asked the commissioner. Langdon wondered how a frenchman had come to pronounced the word 'naked' like an American from the deep south, but he decided to let it slide. "Well..." began Langdon, poking the body again for entertainment, "judging by the lack of clothing, in addition to the shape he...sort of...drew, I think that Jacques Sauniere was trying to imply 'The Virtruvian Man' by Da Vinci." "MERDE!" shouted a cop again, flinging more money at his smug friend.

"What about the message?" asked the commissioner. "What message?" asked Langdon, whipping his head around. The commissioner pointed to some large and very obvious scrawl written across the floor. It read,

"4, 8, 15, 16, 23, & 42

Dave, no lard in Cio!

He is a tan loam!

P.S. Find Robert Langdon."

"Hey! My name's on there! It's like being on tv!" cried Langdon with glee. "That's not there." said the commissioner hurriedly, scuffing out 'P.S. Find Robert Langdon' with his shoe. "So, other than the part that doesn't exist, what does it mean?" asked the commissioner. Langdon stood on his head, and squinted at the lines. "Well...'loam' is dirt...by which I think he meant Catholics are dirt...I have no idea what 'Cio' is, but it could mean 'Catholics is ooooogly'..."

"What does 'lard' mean?" asked the commissioner, sounding intensely interested. "Lard's a fatty food. It's got nothing to do with hating Catholic people, so I have no idea why it's in there." said Langdon. After doing a few yoga positions for the heck of it, Langdon stood up and delivered his discoveries to the commissioner. "Jacques Sauniere apparently hated Catholics, and on his death bed tried to tell us that Da Vinci and goddess worship are related." he said, sounding very sure of himself.

"Hold on a second!" said Overworked Intern. She had limped out of her hiding space to confront Langdon, "Wasn't Da Vinci a homosexual? Why would he say that a man can only be truly divine through the union with a women if he was gay? That's what goddess worship is, right? Women above men, gates to the world and vaginas and all that jazz? A gay man would say that!" she asked. "SCUM!" shouted Dan Brown, leaping from HIS hiding space and chasing her out of the Louve.

...and then the author stopped typing. Again. "HA!" she snapped, brandishing a baby wren at her unfortunate readers. "I bet you thought I was gonna introduce Sophie this chapter, right? BUT YOU WERE WRONG! That stupid dead body took so long describe, I got sick of writing. TA!"


	3. Who DOESNT have a cell?

bursts in ITS MEE! I WAS THE TURKEY ALL ALONG!

FuchsiaII - thanks for the tres extended review!

Public apology: Sorry for making fun of you readers last chapter. You know I love you. 3

While The Bull and Langdon were amusing themselves by doodling on Jacques Sauniere, the albino man was calling his Teacher. Actually, he had been trying to call the man for an hour, but Cingular's coverage just wasn't what they claimed it to be. Finally, the albino heard the comforting sounds of a ringing phone. Coverage at last! _Pick up pick up pick up pick up..._he pleaded silently. "Hello? Is that you Silas?" came the Teacher's voice. Silas gasped, "Gasp! How did you know it was me, Teacher?" he asked, bewildered. The Teacher laughed, "I'm like Santa Claus. I see you when you're sleeping, and know when you're awake, and all that jazz. I'm spooky like that." In reality, the Teacher had simply set a different ringtone for Silas's calls. It was something by Brittany Spears, though why he choose that particular song was still shrouded in mystery.

"Sir, it's done. I've killed all four of them, as well as some pizza guy who looked at me funny on the subway." reported Silas as he munched on a slice of pizza. "And what have you learned?" asked the Teacher, sounding cool but eager. "The keystone...it's in Paris. In a church. I have the address written down somewhere..." Silas fumbled through his pockets. "Here we go!" he said in triumph. "Right. You know what to do. Fetch." said the Teacher as he hung up. Silas snorted, "How rude." Pocketing his own cell phone, he nibbled on another slice of pizza while casually whipping himself, to atone for the day's sins. Apparently it never occurred to him that pain did not actually equal redemption. If it did, Heaven would be populated with loads of emo cutters. And seriously, is that the kind of eternity you want?

Back at the Louve, the commissioner's corpse-poking extravaganza was interrupted when his radio crackled. This was incredibly painful for him. Since the Paris government had spent so much money building all kinds of fancy 'national monuments', they had to cut back on other costs...like police supplies. As a result, half the police officers in Paris only carried water-pistols, and most had defective communications equipment. So, every time the commissioner's radio crackled, it did so literarily, sending a shower of sparks across the commissioner's groin. "MERDE!" he shouted, snatching the sparking device from it's location over his codpiece. "What do you want?" he snapped in French, which sounded suspiciously like English. "Voulez vous coucher avec moi ce soir." came the voice over the radio. "A cryptographer?" asked Langdon. "Yes! How did you know?" asked the commissioner. "Because of language roots. Duh." said Langdon. The commissioner stared at him for several long moments, "What part of 'Voulez vous coucher avec moi ce soir' sounds anything like 'cryptographer'?" "Um..." said Langdon, fiddling with the tape that was holding the bridge of his glasses together. The commissioner shrugged, than began shouting some random, inarticulate commands into his radio, mostly for the Hell of it.

The cryptographer in question was Miss Sophie Neveu, who was widely renowned as one of the worst cryptographers in French history. Every day, her superiors questioned not only how she had gotten her job, but why they allowed her to keep it. With a tendency to over complicate even the simplest code, it took Sophie and hour to accomplish what most trained cryptographers could do in minutes, just because she added so many extra steps. In that respect, she was not so different from Langdon. As for how she got the job in the first place, there were rumors that the took the Bull by the horn...

If the commissioner had anything to do with getting Sophie hired, he was regretting it. Despite his express wishes, she had forced her way to the crime scene, quite literarily. Her knee-to-the-groin kendo move was world famous. As she entered, the Bull shouted, "Hey bitch! Why don't you go clean something! This is man work!" "Huzzah!" shouted the french police officers, as they clicking glasses of Bud Lite and noisily scarfed down hamburgers. Sophie rolled her eyes. Twice actually. Through a mouth-full of bubble gum, she said, "Ya don't look like ya workin ta me." The commissioner and his cronnies gasped, "Darn, she's good!" one of them said as they tried to hide an obscenely large keg of beer. "Well booii tha way, I cracked that stinkin code 'a yours." she said, examining her long nails, which were painted a shocking red. Langdon, who should have been intensely interested in the code, was intensely interested in something else, _cop with boobs cop with boobs cop with boobs..._ was the extent of his thinking.

"Before I tell ya, I gotta give Langdon a message. Lemmie see ya phone, commissh." she said, snapping her fingers. The commissioner fumbled with the device, handing it over to her. _Hey wait! Why am I loaning her my phone? I don't even like her! Mind controlling BITCH! _Thought the commissioner. However, his mind lost his body with his hand (a common problem with him) and Sophie got the phone. She, in turn dialed a number and threw the phone at Langdon. It bounced painfully off his forehead. "Yeh code is 454. I donno what the Embassy wants with yous." Langdon stooped to pick up the phone, then pressed the 'dial' key. Instantly, he heard a women's voice saying, "Voulez vous coucher avec moi ce soirYou have reached the voice mail of Sophie Neveu. Please leave a message after the beep, kaay?" Langdon blinked, briefly wondering why Sophie spoke English with a New York accent. Shaking the question off, he said, "Um...Miss Neveu...I think..." "Just dial the code." she said tiredly. Langdon complied. "Where's my snow, baby doll? You said you had 5 or 5 kilos coming my way, but I ain't seen nothing yet! Bitch, if you don't get that shit to me now I'll..." came the message. "Oh! Oops, I meant cha gotta type '545'. My mistake." Langdon hastily typed the new number, and the man's voice was replaced by, "Langdon! Don't react to this message, kay? You're in danger..." Langdon did react however. He wet his pants. Fortunately, the commissioner was too busy trying to 'touch' Sophie to notice.

Meanwhile Silas was just kind of sitting around. _Now seems like a really good time to think about my past...yeah...let's go back there for a second._ He thought, drifting like a plastic bag among his tortured memories. Once upon a time, he had been a child in a house-hold filled with troubles and violence. Then he had been a murderer. Then he had been a ghost, in a metaphorical (not metaphysical snare) sense, and an inmate where he was sexually abused. (For more on prison, read 'The Shawshank Redemption'. One word: eeew). When Silas had escaped the horrific prison, with a number of other inmates (one of which was Captain Jack Sparrow. Him and Silas went way back), Silas had been taken in by a kindly priest. _My life has kinda sucked, hasn't it._ Though Silas, throughly depressed. So, he did what he always did when he was feeling down: grabbed his self discipline whip and listened to 'Bad Day'. That always helped.

And the only reason you need to know that is so this makes sense:

Unbeknownst to Silas, his friend and mentor, the priest who had since become a bishop, just sold him to the infamous Teacher. His life was about to start sucking even more.

"The numbers from a popular American TV show?" said the commissioner, enraged. He stuffed another croissant in his mouth with fury. Langdon was wondering where all the croissants were coming from. It was his theory that french people could spawn them, the way that meat spawned maggots. "Yeeah." said Sophie, snapping her fingers. "Pretty obvious really. Ya know, if you had just Googled the numbers, ya wouldn't have needed to involve my department in the first place." "I demand a better explanation than that, Sophie! You are a cryptographer! Surely you can do better than that!" the commissioner shouted, his nose ring quivering with rage. Sophie shrugged, "That's all I got for yous." with a final snap she said, "See ya later commish!" and she strode of in a sexy and distracting way. The commissioner's rage was instantly replaced by lust, and Langdon had trouble concentrating on his phone message.

As the message finished up, he said, "I gotta go...take a pee." and rushed off down the hallway. The commissioner glared angrily at Langdon's back, little spurts of steam rising from his nostrils. He could do things like that, being commissioner and all. "Make sure take a whizz is all that Langdon does! That man is a raging lunatic, and a danger to the public!" shouted the commissioner as his eyes rolled madly and froth spewed out from between his lips. Dan Brown ran past a few times, taking random shots at paintings and tapestries. And an exit sign. Several police officers drooled over a picture on another man's camera phone; he had taken several pictures up Sophie's skirt while she was talking to Langdon. To their surprise and delight, she had not been wearing panties. "The most dangerous man in Paris...is Robert Langdon." repeated the commissioner.

Then everything froze while there was a set change.


	4. Barf is Messy

Unfortunately, I don't own John Deer. Or Stephen King.

FuchsiaII- Thank you once again for the extended review! I hope this next chapter is amusing...I'll apologize ahead of time for my use of uber CAPs in this chapter...

xlawa- love you, too lol:D

Langdon rushed into the recently assembled 'men's bathroom' set. Upon entering the room, Langdon swiftly undid the night janitor's fine cleaning job by throwing up all over the bathroom floor. "Holy shit! They're gonna kill me!" he said aloud, wiping barf from his mouth with the back of his hand. "Ewww" came a voice from the back of the bathroom. Leaping backwards, Langdon saw Sophie standing above him, a disgusted scowl twisting her heavily colored lips. Some throw up had gotten on her tall, black boots.

"What are you doing here?" demanded Langdon as he scuttled backwards across the bathroom floor, looking somewhat like an upside-down crab, if a crabs wore tweed, vomit stained suits. "I'm the one who told ya ta come here in ths first place." said Sophie with a sigh almost as heavy as her eye-liner. "I know that!" said Langdon indigently, standing slowly so as not to crack his fragile Harvard joints. "Why are you in the men's bathroom!" he clarified. "Wouldja rather let the commish see you goin into the ladies room?" asked Sophie, snapping her gum for emphasis. Langdon considered this. He had quite a few questions about the commissioners sexual orientation, and that man was big enough to get away with anything. Langdon didn't want to invite any trouble. "Not really, no." Langdon admitted as he repaired his damaged comb-over, and replaced his imitation John Deer hat.

"Well from my phone message, ya know you are the commish's prime suspect for the murder of Jacques Sauniere. What cha don't know is that ya are being watched right now!" said Sophie, waving her fingers around like a witch to drive home how creepy that was. "The French people are gonna kill me!" whimpered Langdon, hiding next to a urinal and curling up under it's protective ceramic dish. "Naw they aren't. But commish is really convinced that yer guilty. It's just evidence gettin in the way." said Sophie, fluffing her hair absently. "...which is why they are gonna KILL ME!" said Langon, his voice rising in a frantic crescendo.

The commissioner, standing down the hallway, heard only 'KILL ME!'. Shaking his head, the man commented to a fellow police officer, "If it's that bad, he should really eat some more fruit." The other officer nodded in reply, and wondered why the commissioner was petting his head.

"Shh!" hissed Sophie. "Doncha know the commish will hear yah?" Langdon whimpered and clung to the pipe below the urinal. "Why do ya think the commish is gonna kill ya? It ain't that bad!" said Sophie, sounding exasperated. "This is France! You guys still behead people here! Vive la Revolution and all that junk!" Langdon explained, his voice shaking with fear. "No we don't." said Sophie. She could forgive him for making the mistake, however. This was a common misconception among tourists. "Yes you do! I saw a guillotine out there! Near the museum!" said Langdon hysterically. "That was a gas pump." said Sophie. Langdon uncurled from beneath the sink, tentative as a baby deer. "French history was never my 'thing'." admitted Langdon as he pulled a scrap of toilet paper from his hat. "So why do you want me to escape from the commissioner if he isn't going to kill me?" asked Langdon curiously while he tried to clean the pee from his pants.

"Well, ah wanna help you cause your innocent. But I also want help decodin Jacques Sauniere's final message. Which was to me. 'Cause I'm his granddaughter. By the way." Langdon's left eye twitched. He was used to being talked to very slowly, as Harvard academics are wont to do to each other. Sophie's words were very fast and filled with non repetitive information. And she had boobs, which was distracting.

"Wait...hold on.." said Langdon clutching the bridge of his nose, and holding out one hand, "So you weren't the whore of the dead guy? You are the grandfather...no...granddaughter of the dead guy?" he said slowly. Sophie nodded, picking absently at her nails. "And...the message on the floor was to you?" asked Langdon. "Yeah. Oh and I forgot, there was a fourth line that said 'P.S. Find Robert Langdon'. That's the main reason why the commish is framing you." said Sophie, nibbling at her nail now. The words were again above Langdon's pace. His left eye began to twitch with the difficultly of processing speech so quickly, "So..if you are cryptographer, then why do you need me to help you interpret your grandfather's last message?" asked Langdon. Sophie sighed with annoyance, accidently snapping of her nail which was fortunately, false. "Why ya gotta ask stupid questions like that, hmm? Yah gonna help me or do ya wanna get thrown in a french jail by the bisexual commish?" asked Sophie, running out of patience. Robert Langdon had, in fact, read "The Shawshank Redemption" by Stephen King, and he was well aware of the sexual abuse a tiny man like himself would have to endure. He did not want to end up as the sex toy of some hardened prisoner called 'Smacky' or something. Though he thought his question had been a good one, Langdon agreed to assist Sophie. She nodded happily, "Right! Let's blow this joint." she said, snapping her fingers evilly.

Silas was sitting in a car outside of a church. Quickly, he took two handguns, a rifle, a pair of brass knuckles, the Punjab Lasso, a silver bullet, a steak knife, a stake and a grenade launcher out of his cloak before stepping out of the car. _Weapons of death have no place in a church. Except if that weapon of death is found inside the church. In which case, it is perfectly okay to kill someone with it. Savvy? _He thought. Outside was freezing, a cold french wind toying with the hem of his cloak. _It's fucking freezing out here! Can't they make these cloaks out of like, fleece or something?_ Thought Silas bitterly. Then, he realized he had used a curse word in his thought process, so he punched himself in the stomach for penance. Self stomach-punching was something that had taken years of practice, but Silas was able to do it.

The albino rapped the door of the church to the rhythm of 'My Humps', but Nobody answered at first. "Hey Axel, do you know if the nun who keeps this place is in?" asked Silas. The Nobody nodded and said, "Yeah sure, let me go get her." Silas thanked Axel, then began rubbing his hands together, cackling with evil intent. But he wasn't actually evil. Just misunderstood. Keep that in mind.

For about five minutes, Sophie recalled how she had some mysterious falling out with her grandfather. They had not been in contact for years, but then he suddenly called her that she was in danger. _I guess by me you meant you._ Thought Sophie, over complicating the message _Or did you mean that we were both in danger...I'm so confused._ She thought, her head spinning. "How do you do that? It's like 'The Exorcist' or something." said Langdon, referring to Sophie's spinning head. Stopping her head, Sophie apologized, "Sarry 'bout that. Anyway, we gotta getcha outta the Louve. Lemmie see that soap." she demanded. While Sophie was reflecting on her young adult trauma relating to her grandfather, Langdon had begun to write messages on the walls in soap. There was really no apparent reason for this, and most of the notes were things like the lyrics to that blue canary song by They Might Be Giants and crude pictures of naked stick-figures having sex.

Hurriedly, Langdon gave the soap to Sophie. "Now reach in your pocket and pull out what's in there." Sophie commanded. Langdon did as bade. He pulled out what appeared to be The One Ring to Rule Them All. "Other pocket." said Sophie, heaving a record breaking sigh. Langdon held out the contents of his 'other' pocket, which included a ball of lint, a pocket protector, a small baggy of cocaine, a single unused tampon and a GPS tracker. "How does the tampon affect me getting out of the Louve." asked Langdon, as though that was the only object in his pocket which bore any possible relevance to the situation at hand. "It doesn't, and I don't I don't even want to know why you have that. It's the GPS tracker I need."

Before Sophie's ingenious ploy is revealed, let's examine it from the point of view of the police commissioner, shall we?

The GPS dot which had been tracking Langdon's every movement flew out the bathroom window. "Holy shit! Langdon just killed himself!" shrieked a junior officer.

Then the dot began to zoom away really fast, "Holy shit! He jumped on top of a truck and now is going away at speedy speeds!"

The commissioner turned red, then purple, then and interesting shade of blue before he finally overcame his rage enough to take a breath. Once that particular challenge was surmounted, his fellow police officers knew they were in for a ranting. "GET EVERY SINGLE OFFICER OUT OF THE LOUVE! I WANT THIS CRIME SCENE TO BE EMPTY OF HUMANITY! IF ANY OFFICER REMAINS BEHIND AT THE MUSEUM, I WILL FIRE THEM!" he shrieked. The other officers, impressed by the liberal use of CAPs in their commissioner's speech, ran out of the museum at top speed, as though the commissioner's words were chasing them and nipping them painfully in the butt and ears.

"Sir? Shouldn't someone stay behind and like, watch the crime scene, just in case Langdon like, returns to the scene of the crime? Or something..." the police officer trailed off when he saw the rage in the commissioner's eyes and nose ring. "I'll be going..." said the police officer in a voice so faint that describing it as a 'whisper' would be a gross exaggeration of the tone. Before the police officer could go anywhere, the commissioner began to bludgeon the poor fellow with a night stick. Remember: 'Police brutality' only applies to police on suspect violence.


	5. Man a gar!

Serenitae- oO flags ambulance for you

katieeeeee- UPDATED! For you, lol

deathmedic- Thanks for the compliment! I hope my upward trend continues. I will try to do the spacing a little better...people have actually told me my spacing needs work before..on my other fanfiction, lol. I'm trying to get a handle on it...

xlawa- yes he does...thank you!

theRegalBeagle- I shall continue writing! Hopefully, this is still funny, lol.

FuchsiaII- HAH! I would totally pay to see Silas pulling all that stuff out of his pocket in real life. Or whatever. Thanks for your comment. I'm glad you liked the 'kill me!' line. I'll try and keep you happy!

Pepsi, Coca-Cola, an ninjas do not belong to me.

So how did Langdon escape from the Louve, without breaking his skinny little chicken legs? It was all thanks to the devious and almost stunning Sophie.

When Sophie got the soap from Langdon, she did not use it to wash any part of her anatomy (which she dearly wanted to do, since Langdon had touched her and he smelled like Harvard). Instead, she used the soap to break the bullet-proof, laser-proof, weapon of mass destruction-proof, pantie-proof, (but not Dove proof!) window of the Louve men's room. Instantly an alarm began to wail like a thousand fangirls at a Daniel Powder concert. Langdon covered his ears and began to cry softly. He couldn't even hear himself whimper over the blaring sounds. "I don't like loud noises...they are bad for your inner ear..." he complained between despairing sobs. Inner ear problems were something of a phobia for Langdon, due to a traumatic pool incident when he was 3 and a half.

While Langdon was combating his childhood trauma, Sophie had spit her saliva lubricated gum into a trash-can, which she then lobbed onto the back of a Coca-Cola truck halted at a red light outside the Louve. "If we're like, seriously lucky, the trash-can will stick to the truck because of the semi-dried soda crust which coats EVERY Coca-Cola related object, and the GPS tracker will stick on that piece of gum on the bottom of the trash-can." Taking careful aim, Sophie flung the GPS tracker out of the window with a girlish "Hi-ya!". The stakes were very high. If the tracker landed anywhere but the tiny speck of gum, it would be smashed on the hard metal trash can, or the tough back of the Coca-Cola truck, which was more heavily armored then some tanks, since Coca-Cola really didn't want anyone to know it's secret recipe.

Sophie would have missed the Coca-Cola truck by a mile if a passing Pepsi truck hadn't sideswiped the idling Coke truck as it drove by. The shock of the collision knocked the Coke truck, and the trash-can perched on top of it, into the perfect position. The tracking dot fell in an almost graceful arch, and landed with a tiny splat on the still wet clot of chewing gum. It was a beautiful thing.

"Alrigh!" shouted Sophie over the intensely annoying alarms. "Let's blow this joint, heh?" she suggested. Langdon, who appeared to be unable to form complete, remotely intelligent remarks when not in front of a class, simply slobbered in fear. The alarm was causing him almost as much duress as those mean fact-checkers who spewed red ink all over his papers and books on iconology. Despite his fear, Langdon was in awe of Sophie's brilliant plan. Sophie Neveu was clearly a Hell of a lot smarter than he was.

Meanwhile, the commissioner was doing a little slobbering of his own. He had just found out that the cryptology department had not sent Sophie to assist him on the case, and this made him somewhat angry. Translated to commissioner speak, this meant, "That loose bitch snuck into my crime scene! The whore! What the Hell did she think she was doing! If she thinks I'm going to get her that job at Interpol she is so wrong!" Throttling a passing pizza man (the brother of the one Silas had offed) to quell his anger, the commissioner barked random commands at his cowering officers. They were worried that even the slightest movement might redirect the commissioners anger at them, and they liked their necks in the not squished position.

"Find Langdon! We'll deal with that Sophie woman later!" he shrieked, sounding nearly womanish in his anger. Flinging the twitching pizza man aside Langdon selected an unfortunate officer from the scattering cloud, "You get to stay behind and hide this body." The commissioner indicated the recently deceased delivery man. As if in tribute to the man's life, the smell of pizza seemed to hover in cold air.

While the commissioner was bursting his blood vessels with anger, Silas had just entered the church where his target was hidden. Probably. Maybe. The nun who greeted him was so old, Silas first thought she was a corpse resurrected from the parish graveyard. He only reconsidered this conclusion when he remembered that corpse reanimation was, as of yet, impossible. _Except for Christ, but that's a different case entirely. Sort of an exception to the rule._ Thought Silas, eyeing the crone with suspicion. _How does she like, stay together anyway? Her joints look like they are about ready to disintegrate. _He poked her experimentally, to see if she would dissolve. Though his finger left a lasting indent in her skin, the nun did not fall apart. "Don't touch me! You want to displace my muscles? What do you want, anyway?" she snapped. A few of her teeth fell out to punctuate her speech. "I'd just like to tour the church...if that's okay.." said Silas, picking a tooth off his foot.

The nun examined her visitor, "You look funny." she commented. Though Silas certainly looked different, being and albino and all, the nun saw him as having an elephant trunk and duck bills for feet. Her hair medication did strange things to her eyes. "Umm..." Silas said. Most people were more subtly weirded out by his appearance, and in all honesty, he was a little freaked out by the old nun.

"I'll still give you a tour of the diner though." said the nun. "Church." corrected Silas politely. "Enough with you're young person jargon. This is a diner! Show some respect. Now follow me." the nun extended a hand, which was green, mottled and looked something like lettuce gone bad. Silas could not disguise his disgust, "You hand is so gross looking, I can't disguise my disgust. Can't I go on a tour by myself?"

This upset the old women very much. The nun's spleen and pinky toe medication made it difficult to sleep at night, and she had woken up specifically to give Silas a tour. That and her cheek medication made her need to go to the bathroom ever hour and 17 minutes. You could set a watch by her bladder. However, since the man was so strange and sinister looking, she decided to let him have his way, "You creep me out. Go do your thing." she dismissed Silas into the church with a wave of her mutated looking hand. Silas winced at the sight of it, and hurried to the alter of the church, where his business lay.

Rather than return to her room however, the nun remained hidden stealthily behind a candle stick, watching her mysterious and annoying visitor's every move. "I'm spooky." she whispered to a paving stone.

The easily befuddled Langdon was attempting to walk sneakily along the dark, scarey and deserted corridors of the Louve. Considering his awkward gait, his squelching wet shoes, and his frequent complaints, Langdon was about as inconspicious as a pink plastic flamingo in Antarctica. "Why are they framing me for murder Sophie? I don't wanna die. It isn't fair." pouted Langdon. Stealthily.

Sophie, who was about ready to commit a little murder of her own, explained for the 34th time, "You're name was written by the victim at the scene of the crime! What is he supposed to think, huh? I mean, granted, the commish is hasty, but we've been through this Langdon!" A direct opposite to Langdon, Sophie was almost too sneaky, blending perfectly into the backdrop of the dark museum. Only her gleaming red nails betrayed her true location. Sophie was so skilled at sneaking because she was also a professional ninja terrorist. On weekends, her and her ninja focus group attached bombs to goats and herded them onto pirate ships, effectively blowing both boat and livestock sky high.

"So do you have any ideas about the code my grandfather left behind?" asked Sophie, hoping to stop Langdon's complaining with a question. "You know your name has 'ops' in it? And 'hi'. And 'so'. And 'Phi'." Langdon said, apparently attempting to calm himself by playing puzzle games. Sophie stopped short, though she did so with such stealth Langdon didn't notice. "I'm stopped windbag. How'dya know about 'phi'?" she asked. Langdon had a convenient flashback, reflecting how Phi was the divine proportion and how it appeared a lot in Da Vinci's artwork. "And that's how!" said Langdon triumphantly. And stealthily. Sophie shook her head. "I can't tell what yer thinking. And if you have vivid flashbacks at random intervals, you should have your balding head examined."

"It wasn't a flashback! I'm a time traveler." explained Langdon matter-o-factually.

"Excuse me?" said Sophie. Though her face was disguised by pantie-hose and war paint, her tone made it apparent her features had twisted into an expression of disbelief.

"I came unstuck in time. The aliens from Tralfalmadore told me so. Besides, Harvard people are too cool for time. Time is for poor people." explained Langdon as he scrabbled forward. This apparently made perfect sense to him.

Sophie was very tempted to smack Langdon on the back of the head and leave him to the commissioner. A person as insane as he clearly was would only be a burden to drag around. Suddenly, it was Langdon's turn to stop short. Sophie nearly tripped over him. "Hey! I think I've got something!" Langdon said loudly. "What?" asked Sophie dubiously. She was really hoping that the next words out of Langdon's mouth were not going to be 'I've come out of the closet'. Now was not the time for such revelations.

"'He is op!' that's an anagram of your name Sophie!" said Langdon in triumph. Making lame anagrams of things was his way of impressing girls. Langdon hadn't been on a date since he learned what 'anagram' meant. Sophie slapped her face, "Langdon.." she began. She was about sick of him and his whimpering. "Oh and by the way, that nonsense message your grandfather left you? It was actually and anagram of Leonardo da Vinci and The Mona Lisa." Langdon added as an afterthought.

Sophie wasn't sure if she was relieved that Langdon had answered the riddle, or disappointed she had found a reason not to leave him concussed and beaten on the Louve floor.


	6. Childhood Trauma is FUN

Sophie had spent the time between updates gaping in wonderment at Langdon. "You figured that out just now?" she asked. Apparently the rumor that Harvard professors were only good for use as lighter fluid was false. "Indeed." said Langdon, striking a dramatic Holmes like pose. Sophie, who appeared to be able to summon gum the way other french people summoned croissants, grabbed another packet out of thin air and stuffed it in her mouth, wrappers and all. Deep in thought, she began to chew furiously, as though the gum was a catalyst for thinking sounds.

"You know, you should really keep the wrappers separate, so you can spit the gum in it when you're done." observed Langdon. "We don't have time! I means seriously, unwrapping those tiny sticks takes, like, foreve hrr! We have to get to the Mona Lisa!" Sophie snapped. Through her giant mouthful of gum, it sounded more like, "Mpphhgarblesalaviate." However, since Langdon was a teacher, he was quite used to understanding people even when their words were garbled by gum. It was one of the few benefits of working with 'young people'.

"What happened to me escaping to glorious freedom in the American embassy?" asked Langdon nervously. It was beginning to sound more and more like he was about to be thrust into an over complicated adventure, which was not good at all. Adventures were bad for his liver. And they scared him.

"New plan!" shouted Sophie, tiny globes of gum shooting from her mouth and splattering across the canvas of a large and expansive painting. Before Langdon could escape, she grabbed his arm and dragged him off toward the Mona Lisa. "Help! Help! Raaape! Raaape!" he screamed as he was dragged down the hallway.

hr

Silas looked like he was praying. What he was actually doing was scanning the inside of the church with a contraption that was part night vision goggle, part themo-sensitive goggles, part EMF reader (Silas hunted ghosts in his spare time), and part tip calculator. It could also scale a fish, though the contraption had yet to serve that particular office.

So Silas wasn't praying. And honestly, with that giant mass of gears and lens clutching his face, he wasn't really doing a good job at pretending to pray either. Any sane, unmedicated observer would have guessed his plans in an instant. However, the nun who was spying on him was hopped up on pinkie toe medication. To her, Silas's actions seemed not only ordinary, but more pious than called for. She was convinced she was seeing a saint in action.

Unaware that he was being watched, Silas marched up to the alter of the church. The nun's breathing was erratic and heavy, as though she had been a chain smoker for her entire life, and continued to smoke many packs a day, even in her old age. This was, in fact, true. As she watched Silas, she was lighting up yet another cigar. If only Silas had not been listening to 'Bad Day' on his ipod, he might have been spared a lot of trouble later on.

There was this strange and very complicated line on the floor of this particular church, which looked a lot like a very very tall stick figure. Besides the fact that it resembled a crudely drawn man, this line was apparently out of place and unique. Silas didn't know why, really. The Teacher, while knowledgeable, was also long winded and dreadfully boring. While the Teacher had explained the complex relations of the line, the solstice, the Chinese zodiac and Barbra Walters, Silas had nodded off. Not that it mattered. All he really needed to know was that the line on the church floor pointed to what he sought...(gosh..one full sentence without a punch line. I'm slipping.)

Meanwhile, the bishop that had taken Silas under his wing was on a plane to some unknown destination for an unknown purpose. Besides being cryptic, this is irrelevant.

hr

Sophie arrived out of breath in front of the Mona Lisa. Langdon was nearly dead, and on the verge of complete cardiac meltdown. Harvard professors were not built with running in mind. Of course, both of them would have been in better condition, had Sophie not taken several wrong turns and ending up in the wrong wing of the Louve. She wanted to stop and ask a night watchman for directions, but Langdon convinced her that this was a bad idea. "I think I might be the only Caucasian male in a tweed suit and a John Deere hat wanted for murder at the time. They just might recognize me." he reasoned. Plus it was pretty darn conspicuous to be running around a museum at night.

After wasting nearly an hour, the pair finally stood, limbs flailing and organs heaving, before the Mona Lisa. "Hey before we mess with this...can I ask you a question?" asked Langdon from his position on the floor. He was talking between swigs of water, meant to chase his medication down his throat. "Shoot." said Sophie, prodding the Mona Lisa's nose with her pinkie finger. That moment, every person in France felt a slight twinge in their left nostril.

"Do the letters P.S mean anything else to you? Besides post script that is. Even I know that meaning." said Langdon. Sophie was suddenly flung into a flashback. She recalled a time when she was a snotty little child, who delighted in rooting into other people's things. One day, she broke into her grandfather's room with a small hatchet, and began to dig through his stuff. Like Bill Clinton to a secretary, Sophie went straight to her grandfather's chest of drawers. After burrowing through several layers of porn, a box of condoms (she inflated a few of these and made balloon animals out of them) bags of cocaine and a small caliber handgun, she found something interesting: a key. The key had the initials 'P.S' engraved on them. When Sophie's grandfather discovered that she had taken the key, he beat her within an inch of her life, and kept her home from school until the bruises healed. After that there was some other unless sentimental stuff about her childhood, then she returned to the present.

Blinking wildly, looked at Langdon, who was trying to rise from the Louve floor, "That shit with the aliens? Whateva makes ya think yer unstuck in time? That ain't...catching any chance, is it?" the vividness of the flashback had frightened her somewhat. Langdon cocked his head and looked at her, "Have you come unstuck in time as well? It's not bad really, but it can be a little hard on the gastric fluids." he cautioned. Sophie prayed she hadn't contracted what was screwing with Langdon's tiny brain.

"Forget it. The P.S did mean something else...it was on a key ah dug outta his cabinet when I was a shrimp." said Sophie hurriedly, "What's it to ya?" she asked.

"Well..." Langdom said, miming pulling an overhead screen down, "There is an secret society. Sort of like 'The Order of the Phoenix', but real. They call themselves the Priory of Sion. Da Vinci founded it." he explained, trading his John Deere hat for a hat reading Get-er-Done. Suddenly, Overworked Intern jumped from...out of nowhere really.

"FACT!" she shouted "The Priory of Sion was NOT founded by Da Vinci! It wasn't even around until 1956 when a low budget housing nut and an anti-Semitic crook founded it! It basically a front for embezzlement and fraud! Darnit Dan Brown! GOOGLE stuff before you write it!" she finished, out of breath and flushed with victory.

"SILENCE!" screamed Dan Brown, as he too sprang from some dark corner, "I'm a best selling author and can make up facts as I see fit! I shall squish the lungs of the fool who challenge my rightness! Be dead quick Catholic vermin! I have a meeting with Michael Moore at 2...in the morning." He whipped out a flame thrower, sending a great wall of flames in the general direction of Overworked Intern. She was spared from a painful and inferno-induced demise by the fact that Dan Brown's eyes were rolling so madly that his aim was off. Instead of roasting Overworked Intern, he toasted a few pieces of priceless art instead. Leaping away from the angry man, Overworked Intern escaped down a hallway. Dan Brown followed with his flamethrower, in literal hot pursuit.

Langdon and Sophie looked at each other and shrugged. "Anyway...P.S. They were founded by DaVinci, and a whole bunch of famous people joined it! Like Newton, Victor Hugo, Paris Hilton and Tom Cruise." said Langon, positively drooling with excitement. "I thought Tom Cruise was something else weird..." pointed out Sophie, "Somethin like sci..." that was as far as she got. Langdon had punched her in the jaw to shut her up, "Don't say their name! They have secret pirate lawyers that will hunt you down and kill you if you offend them." he warned, looking almost as wild-eyed as Dan Brown had been.

Sophie would have been mad that Langdon had punched her, but his skinny Harvard wrist couldn't manage much more then a tap, "Anyway." she continued, "What is this Priory thing all about?"

"Generally, you get member discounts on all Priory of Sion products, as well as a spiffy membership card, a t-shirt and a pass to go to the local Priory of Sion gym for free. But they also do goddess worship and hate on Catholic people." he explained, placing his John Deere hat on the statue of a naked man.

"Perhaps that has to do with the terrifying and life altering event I experienced as a young women, which, much to M3thod+Mak3r's chagrin, did not involve animal sacrifice. But more on that later. To the Mona Lisa." Sophie dragged Langdon a few feet, before announcing, "Behold the Mona Lisa."

"I could see it before..." muttered Langdon. Sophie kicked him enthusiastically in the groin, "This is France's treasure. Pay homage to it!" she said, genuflecting before the icon. Langon rolled his eyes, and was rewarded with another groin shot.

hr 

Silas made it up to the alter. There was a hollow spot below the floor. Silas was happy, and began to break it open. In her medicated stupor, the nun had no idea what the man was up to. Then suddenly, like an unexpected ping pong ball, the answer hit her on the forehead. "He is here to steal our secret!" she said, very loudly. Silas did not hear her; he was listening to 'Minority' by Green Day now, headbanging to the music as he dug.

hr 

Meanwhile, the commissioner had discovered that Sophie had told Langdon that they were pursuing him as a murder suspect. "SHITSHITSHITSHITTYSHITSHITSHITSHITSHITSHTI MERDE!" cursed the commissioner, using his nightstick liberally to bash in the skulls of his fellow officers. He would have gone on for hours like that, but the pace of the story had begun to pick up, and he had only a few sentences to make his point. And if there was one the commissioner was good it, it was being concisely violent.

hr 

Langdon stared at the Mona Lisa. She stared back. "Quit laughing at me." he said to the painting, rubbing his injured manhood. Langdon new very well that the Mona Lisa was more than a tiny painting of a greenish and rather ugly woman. It was Da Vinci's way to praise the sacred feminine, as well as the wonders of drag. Behind the smudgy, blurry layers of cracked paint, there was a network of secrets and double meanings that would impress even Nixen. So claimed Langdon anyway. Langdon was also known for dragging deep symbolic meaning from the pictures on boxes of Trix cereal. It was a Harvard thing.

"Well, it appears by bringing us to this picture, your grandfather was trying to communicate to us his love for cross dressing. He wasn't actually a women was he?" Langdon asked Sophie. "Or maybe he was trying to get us to read the words he scrawled across the painting's face." she commented. In the last minutes of his life, Sophie's grandfather had removed the layers of protective bullet proof glass, fire proof glass and even soap proof glass to write directly on the artistic masterpiece. Using a felt tipped marker, he had written, "'Mona! Can't he do forks?" across Mona Lisa's forehead. He had also given her a mustache and eyeliner.

"Actually, she doesn't look so bad that way." commented Langdon. At that moment, ever French person on the planet had a near fatal heart attack, except for Sophie, leading Landgon to question her Frenchhood.

Sophie squinted at the words, "'oo! Can he do farts?' What the Hell is that supposed ta mean? That doesn't even make sense!" she said, poking the canvas and leaving an oily fingerprint smudge on the Mona Lisa's cheek. Not that it mattered. The posters in the Louve gift shop were in a better condition then the real painting at that point.

"I bet it's another anagram, meaning something weird like 'Madonna of the Rocks' or 'Catholics are mean spirited murderers who hate everyone and everything and are not above using, rape, pillaging, musical theater and Final Fantasy to ingrain their falsified propaganda in the minds of a helplessly gullible public'." said Langdon wisely. Sophie was stunned. "The Catholic church did all that? Well, it's a good thing that they didn't use an entertaining crime novel about a Harvard professor and a struggling cryptologist to trick millions of readers into thinking they actually knew what they were talking about." she said gravely. Langdon nodded in fear, hoping the Catholic church never discovered the power of popular fiction.


	7. Super Sized!

While Langdon and Sophie were preoccupied by the terror of Catholics harnessing the power of fictions novels, an aging museum guard lurched toward them. His breathing was labored, and his steps were loud and irregular. This made sense, since he had two wooden legs. Hobbling along the empty corridors of the Louve, he made about as much noise as a small freight train.

Sophie and Langdon never heard him coming.

"Voulez vous coucher avec moi ce soir!" He demanded, squinting at the intruders with his one good eye. His other eye had been lost in a vicious battle with a rabid art student. He also bore the scars of that particular encounter in places he did not generally display in public, but that's a different story altogether.

Shrieking like a women, Langdon peed his pants and dropped to the floor, flailing wildly to fend off any bullets that might be shot at him.

Shrieking like a man, Sophie whipped out a concealed razor blade and flung herself at the offending museum guard. Her amazonian battle howl mixed with the guard's challenge of "So you want it super-sized?"

hr

After a few moments of digging, Silas had come in contact with a large stone tablet. Below it, there was a small hollow cavern, which held what Silas sought, he was sure of it. However, stone on the alter proved more difficult to break than Silas had anticipated. The crowbar he had brought along had not done the job. Or the huge wooden pew he had dropped on the stone with the assistance of a crane. Or the wrecking ball. Or the dynamite. Not even a herring could crack the vault of stone. Perplexed, Silas took his travel sized soap bar from his fanny pack and scrubbed it on the stone. The stone crumbled like old cheese. "Ha!" laughed Silas in triumph. "Not soap-proof I see!"

The nun gasped with fear. Quickly, she whipped out her Motorola Razor phone in slow motion, humming 'Back in Black' as she did so. Swiftly, she dialed four Paris phone numbers and...

Focus change! Back to Silas. He cleared away the rapidly dissolving rubble of the stone tablet, which reacted to the soap the way human sink reacts to strong acids. Underneath the rubble, there was yet another stone. Frustrated, Silas was about to give it a good soaping when he saw there were words written on it. Curious, he looked at the arcane and mysterious pictograms..."Oh wait, my bad. Upside down." Silas flipped the tablet over, revealing the symbols to be perfectly recognizable English.

Silas was burning with anticipation, to the point where it was almost orgasmic. Here was the object of his quest! His Grail! The key to the location of the...Grail...

Naturally, he was very let down. All his much sought-after tablet said was, "Ha ha! This was a red herring! Fooled you! Love, PS."

Silas blinked. "What the CRAP!" he shrieked. He yelled so loudly he could hear himself over the "Footloose" soundtrack, which was what was on his ipod at the moment. Then he punched himself in the gut for saying 'crap' in a church.

hr

The beaten corpse that was once Louve Security Guard Number 2 lay prostrate at Sophie's feet. "Supa size that, ya bastard." said Sophie, hiding her knife in her bosom and spitting elegantly in the corpse's face.

Langdon looked stunned. He had security guard blood splattered across his tweed suit and turtle-shell glasses. Throwing up heartily, Langdon asked, "What the Hell was that?"

"I had a rough childhood. Let's check around here for clues to the identity of my grandfather's killer." Langdon began to stand, but Sophie pinned him to the ground with one spiked heel, "Lemmie rephrase that. I look for clues, you clean up the physical evidence. I don't wanna single hair left behind here, got it?"

"Ye...yes ma'm!" blubbered Langdon. He wasn't going to argue with Sophie. She could do things to a human body with a blade. Things...

Forty minutes later, Sophie had ripped down every painting in that part of the Louve, except for Madonna of the Rocks. She had sliced many pieces in frustration when they failed to render any helpful clues. Langdon had finished cleaning up the crime scene and was admiring the only painting remaining painting on the wall, "'Madonna of the Rocks', hmm? Sound's kinda like a drink. You know. An alcoholic one. I don't drink much alcohol. It's bad for my valve."

Sophie rolled her eyes, "Leave that one be. There ain't no way my Grandpa would have anything to do with that one. I guess this is a dead end." she snapped her gum in annoyance and prepared to take out her anger on the prostrate body of the guard.

"Funny thing is that 'Madonna of the Rocks' is an anagram of 'Mona! Can't he do forks?'. Didja know that Sophie? I bet you didn't."

"I was supposed to get the one." Sophie pouted as she tore 'Madonna' down from the wall. She stuck her knee through it for good measure, then searched the destroyed canvas. Finally, she pulled out a small gold plated key. "Ta-da!" she announced, dangling it in front of Langon's nose.

"Yeah yeah. That's nice. Can we leave now? That dead guy is starting to creep me out and the Louve is getting really old as a setting. I mean really old. What is this, like, chapter 7? We've barely gone a few yards this entire fanfiction."

"Right you are!" said Sophie, grabbing his arm and nearly wrenching it from it's socket in her enthusiasm. She dragged him down some stairs and toward the exit of the Louve, labeled, 'Exit' in cheery, blood red letters.

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Three of the four phone numbers the nun called turned out to be duds. Apparently dead people didn't answer their phones. If the last guy didn't pick up, she was royally screwed. The phone rang four times until a angst ridden male voice announced, "Hello. You have reached the home of Jhonen Vasquez. How the Hell did you get this number? If you are one of those prissy fangirls, I swear, if you don't stop calling me, I am gonna call the police. I'm not kidding, bitches. If you had shown me this much support before, maybe Invader Zim might still be on the air. You know how you can express your unending love for my? Buy my comics. Now, if you have something intelligent to say, do it after the beep." beep

The nun clutched the phone to her withered ear, "The floor panel is broken! The other three are dead! Pick up! Darnit!" she shouted. Unfortunately, she yelled a little too loudly. The frustrated Silas was alerted to her presence. And he was not pleased to see her. Wonder why.

"Hey. Hang that stupid phone up. Those things really piss me off. The buttons are all uneven. And they get greasy." Silas complained, whipping his ipod off. Squeaking in fear, the nun snapped her Razor closed, terminating the call. She hummed 'Back in Black' backwards as she put the phone in her pocket.

"It wasn't any good calling them. They are all dead anyway. Yep. All four secret-keepers. I've had a busy week." Silas said. "I have this unhappy feeling it is about to get even busier." said the nun unhappily as Silas hefted a large and very pointy candle holder. "Got that right." he said.

One loud thunk and a dead nun later, Silas was rifling through said nun's pockets. He retrieved her Razor phone, and admired the sleek curves of cellular device. Sticking it in his own pocket he told the dead nun, "That bad stuff I said about your phone before? I was lying. I was just bitter cause I couldn't afford one. They are actually reeaallly cool."

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Sophie and Langdon burst from the museum like two maggots from the side of a dead deer: with speed and grace. Sort of. Langdon didn't need to struggle to keep up with Sophie anymore, because she had opted to drag his broken body across the Louve lawn. It was a lot quicker that way.

"There's my car!" shouted Sophie pointing at an automobile scarcely larger than a one of those PlaySkol cars kids peddle around it. That was Langdon's first impression anyway. The car was, in fact, a clown car, straight out of the circus. It was bright yellow, with a large red pom-pom on the top, and a front bumper that appeared to be smiling under eye-like headlights.

"What the Hell is the abomination?" asked Langdon. "My CAR!" said Sophie as she flung him into the passenger's seat. Diving through the driver's side window, Sophie rolled upright and slammed her keys in the ignition. "I'll drive!" she volunteered.

Langdon was marveling that the interior of the car. 'roomy' was an understatement. The car had a mini bar, a full sized fridge, a kitchette and an Olympic swimming pool packed in it. Everything was fashioned from mahogany and butterfly wings. Literally. Who knew how many monarchs had to die to furnish that car. "Nice car." commented Langdon approximately half a second before it accelerated to 50 miles per hour. That clown car packed more punch than some roller coasters.

"I think I'm gonna throw up." Langdon said, clutching his stomach. Despite the fact he had thrown up no less than three times already that night, it seemed that he still had some ammunition left. Sophie seemed to sense this. "Not in my car! Do ya have any idea how hard it was for me to steal this?" She threatened as she breezed through several stoplights. And over a dog. And an old lady too, actually.

"It's not my fault! Your driving sucks! Typical women!" shrieked Langdon as he played with the mirror on his side and changed the station on Sophie's radio.

"What did you say?" demanded Sophie, "I was gonna drive ya to the Embassy, where yah could hide from the displeasure of French law, but now I think I'm just gonna take ya with me. Yer in this adventure for the long haul, buddy."

"Nooooo!" wailed Langdon. He was drowned out as French police, peddling furiously after them on bicycles built for two, began howling loudly in imitation of real police sirens. Budget cuts. Angrily, Sophie slammed the accelerator down, cursing in the two and a third languages she knew. The third of a language was Wookie.

As she raced along the Paris freeway, Sophie had yet another vivid flashback. She recalled coming home from work early, and finding a bunch of beat-up retro vans parked in front of her grandfather's estate. Many of them were painted with wild murals of wizards and dragons. It was truly a sight to behold. _Ah! So this was why grandfather wanted me to get that case of Bud Lite. He's having a party! _Sophie had thought. _A party will be good for the old man. He spends too much time in his room doing who knows what. He's starting to smell._

Excited, Sophie had dragged the booze inside only to find that nobody was in. "Hey Axel! Where is everybody?" she asked. Axel nodded at a tapestry, "Down the rabbit hole." he said cryptically as he fluffed his news paper.

Curiously, Sophie drew open the tapestry. Behind it, the wall was conspicuously labeled, "NOT A SECRET ENTRANCE!" Briefly, the sign convinced her to abandon her search, but then she saw a very small doorknob. Turning it, she saw that the wall was indeed a secret entrance, which lead to a secret staircase, which lead to a secret basement.

Up from the secret basement, there came the sounds of serious dance music. The pounding bass made Sophie's teeth rattle. The secret staircase emptied out into a cave, where men and women appeared to be having a rave. The women were wearing skimpy white outfits and twirling glowsticks with drunken enthusiasm. The men were dressed in tight black jeans and nothing else. They sported...acid.

Sophie had watched the bizarre spectacle with fear and amazement _Grandpa really knows how to throw a party..._ Sophie had thought, marveling at the erratic movements of the 'trippin' participants. Suddenly, the whole group had shouted, "And we all fall down!" and promptly did so, laying like rag dolls in their drug-induced stupor. Except for the...in the middle. That Sophie could see very clearly.

Sophie had projectile vomited and ran up the stairs, out of the house, through a pile of dog poo and out of her grandfather's life.

Axel had grinned rather evilly and fluffed his newspaper some more as he watched her go.

End flashback. Sophie shook herself. Considering she had not been fully aware of her surroundings while she was flash backing, she felt lucky to wake up alive. She was doing over 150 on a freeway after all. Langdon was screaming his head off, telling her that now was not the appropriate moment to become unstuck in time. Except in much more...vivid language.


	8. The short chapter with the snail burger

Sorry I took so long to update, dear readers. The library took my copy of 'The DaVinci Code' back. Curse them. But I am back in business, so all is well. Thanks to those brave few who came back.

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Just when it looked like the book was actually getting a little exciting, there was some annoying, boring stuff about the Bishop that trained Silas. All you need to know is that he is a bad, bad man, who got a bunch of funds from the Catholic church via nefarious ways. Shake your finger in his direction. Severely.

Car chase! Explosion! Bad language! Dead old women! Train station! Sudden stop!

That was how Langon would summarize his trip from the Louve to a random train station while he was discussing the event with his psychologist many years later. It was not a bad way to put it. The trip have been so fast and violent, using full sentences and normal punctuation would not do the brevity and gore of the drive justice. It was like a roller coaster. That killed people.

In the station parking lot, Sophie shoved Langdon out of the car. Then she shoved herself out of the car. That was somewhat more difficult. As she toppled onto the pavement, she said, "Alright fatboy. Go get us some tickets outta Paris. Use yer credit card."

Unwilling to incur Sophie's wrath, Langdon waddled away and purchased the tickets, pausing only to buy himself a hamburger to replace all the food he had lost being ill throughout the night. He was dismayed to discover it was actually a snail burger. "Stupid french people! Why do you eat things that don't have organs! Or bones!" Langdon howled, brandishing his burger. He was about to throw it away, when he realized that he probably wouldn't get to eat another meal before he and Sophie were caught and went to prison. So, he ate the burger anyway.

Langon returned to Sophie's side. While he had been gone, she had doused her car in gas and lit it up. Diminishing evidence, apparently. "Here's the tickets! Can we go now?" asked Langdon, grinning widely. "I've always wanted to go to Lille, so I.." Sophie snatched the tickets and ate them.

"Heeey..." Langdon whined. That had not been the reaction he had wanted. "Bad Sophie. Bad. No chewing on the tickets."

"They were just a decoy, ya idiot. Not get in the taxi!" Sophie shouted needlessly. She had already forced Langdon into one of the seats. A sketchy looking man, who wore thick blue mascara and lipstick, waved coyly at Langdon from behind the wheel.

Langdon waved back idly. He had been to New York. The world held little mystery for him after that experience.

"Anyway, while you were goofing off at the train station, I figured out where to go with this key." said Sophie as she got in the taxi. "As it turns out, there was an address on there. Mysterious huh?"

The address, written in Sharpie marker, was glaringly obvious even in the low light. Langdon wondered how they had missed it.

"Take us to 24 Rue Hanso." said Sophie happily to the trans-something driver. Nodding womanishly, the driver took off. He was a better driver than Sophie, but not by much.

"Now then." said Sophie, picking a hypodermic needle from the seat of the taxi and flinging it out the window, "What do you know about the Priory of Sion."

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Had the police guard who had stopped Langdon and Sophie not been brutally murdered, the Commissioner would have killed him. Kicking the already battered corpse, the Commissioner spat angrily at the floor. "You pansy faggity fag fag! How could you let them get away! Merde! Crap on a stick! Now what am I to do!" Munching angrily on the a croissant retrieved from nowhere, the Commissioner grabbed an unlucky police intern by the throat. The other attending officers shrunk back like salted slugs.

"YOU!" screamed the Commissioner, getting croissant bits up the unfortunate police officer's nose. "YOU DUMP THIS BODY IN THE RIVER! AND DO IT RIGHT! I DON'T WANT TO FIND THIS THING FLOATING AROUND NEXT WEEK! MAKE SURE TO SMASH THE MOUTH LIKE I TAUGHT YOU!" With that, he threw the unfortunate officer to the Louve floor.

That accomplished, the Commissioner was about to turn on the cowering officers behind him. Eye's flashing in the red light of the 'EXIT' sign, the Commissioner wheeled around...only to slip in a puddle of blood and fall right on his ass.

There is nothing more funny than an angry frenchman on his ass.

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End file.
